Morning came, carried in on the songs of birds
returning from their seasonal sojourn.
Why did you stay?, they seem to say
We wanted to meet you there,
we saved a place for you where the sky is blue.
Take my hand now, love, and run with me to the
end of winter’s shadows where the grey dissolves
into spring’s golden hue.
Can you see them there?
The sun has once again laid them bare–
It is not too late to pluck our dreams
from the ground. Although streaked with
the sorrow of careless abandonment to another
cold winter’s sleep, they still hold their color.
It is not too late to pluck them from the ground
and give them authenticity. We cannot be concerned
as others question our sensibility.
Life is too short to be held back by those with false
concern and care…
And to the birds,
tell them, this time we will meet them there.